


professional connections

by dzesi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, getting touchy-drunk at the hotel bar, physical therapists and athletic trainers know how to use their hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25873024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzesi/pseuds/dzesi
Summary: ennoshita chikara, physical therapist, bumps into a former high school volleyball rival at a conference and has a small gay crisis.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara/Iwaizumi Hajime
Comments: 39
Kudos: 119





	professional connections

ennoshita pinches between his eyebrows, rubbing at the little jet lag-eyestrain headache that’s camped out there. he’s got a very beer-flavored-beer in front of him, sitting in an ever-widening puddle of condensation that’s about to get dangerously close to his phone, so he picks it up and looks at tomorrow’s conference schedule for the nineteenth time. it hasn’t changed since his eighteenth perusal. still the same mixed itinerary: some actually interesting speakers, a couple of overblown, out-of-touch old white guys, and a few breakout sessions that are kind of a toss-up. 

he checks his nails, checks the time, checks his email, swigs his beer, checks the time again because he didn’t actually catch what it was on that first attempt, and debates whether it’s too embarrassingly early to just go up to his hotel room, iron a shirt for fun and rub one out between some starchy white sheets. he’s just about decided that’s the right move and started to down the rest of his drink when he hears the name of his high school at his elbow.

“karasuno, right?”

he diverts a little beer into his trachea as he turns to look, nodding, and through watery eyes and a short coughing fit, he thinks he recognizes a former aoba josai volleyball player. 

“iwaizumi-san?”

“yeah,” iwaizumi nods. “nice to see a familiar face,” he starts with a half smile, which falters as it becomes clear he doesn’t quite remember ennoshita’s name. which is a bit bold, considering he’s the one who made the approach in the first place. what a dick.

“ennn…” ennoshita starts, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, and watches iwaizumi flush with relief as he finds the rest of it somewhere in his high school memory.

“ennoshita-san! let me buy you a drink.”

he allows himself to briefly mourn his boring evening of ironing and phone-screen pornography before patting the bartop next to him. “sure, yeah. i can let you do that.”  
  


*  
  


iwaizumi’s breath is hot against the back of ennoshita’s neck as he stands too close behind him in the elevator, arms wrapping loosely around his waist, ready to spring apart at the first indication of the doors opening unexpectedly. soft chimes ring for each floor they pass as they get closer to his room and wherever this stupid night is prepared to take them. 

ennoshita can hear his heart banging around in his ribcage as he follows the winding hotel carpet pattern down the hallway with iwaizumi on his heels. he knows in a movie they should be stumbling down the hall, their inebriated laughter bouncing off the dirty room-service flatware sitting outside so many similar doors as they go by, holding hands and gripping lapels. 

in a movie, he knows he would fumble with his room key—maybe even drop the card on the floor and have to pick it up—before getting crowded against the door and kissed as iwaizumi smoothly slides it into the latch. both of them would fall through as it opens, landing adorably together with an “oof,” legs tangled, eyes sparkling, ennoshita’s head on the floor between iwaizumi’s arms as he smiles up at him and they both catch their breath.

in real life, he does fumble a bit, forgetting which pocket the card’s in, but at least he doesn’t drop anything. iwaizumi waits politely a few steps away and nobody gets slammed into either side of the door for a cinematic makeout.

instead, they get inside without incident and toe off their shoes like the considerate guests their parents raised them to be. ennoshita kicks the flap of his suitcase closed so neither of them can see how much of a fucking nerd he is with his immaculately rolled packing, and suddenly feels very awkward, very sober, and very young.

he clears his throat and sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching hesitantly toward iwaizumi, who obliges and drops down next to him, placing a warm, reassuring hand just above his knee. 

“have you—” iwaizumi starts, but ennoshita opts out of hearing the rest of the question by immediately spitting out some word salad.

“no, i—i haven’t, but i, i don’t—wait, why, haven’t you?” 

he watches a tiny strange frown find a home on iwaizumi’s face at having to answer his own question. 

“not, uh. not in a... while.”

iwaizumi glances away for a moment, but when their eyes meet again, the frown is gone; he smiles, reaching to cup ennoshita’s jaw—classic. “i’m gonna kiss you again,” he warns.

kissing downstairs in the bar had felt breezy, casual, almost funny: a quick whiskey-smooch between shots, the natural result of two hours of off-color jokes and eyefucking—just two bros losing (winning?) a game of gay chicken together. 

but now, with no bartender audience and no ironic detachment, iwaizumi’s mouth floats a fraction of an inch away, giving ennoshita the chance to either pull back and play it off or plunge forward into a more interesting mistake.

ennoshita’s face goes hot as he decisively closes the distance, sliding his hand up iwaizumi’s back, fingers admiring his unconscionably well-built traps on their way to clutch the back of his neck. he lets his eyes flicker closed and cedes control, yielding to the man who has a better shot at knowing what the fuck he’s doing. he feels iwaizumi smirk against his lips as he gets the picture.

all at once the tempo shifts. iwaizumi shoves ennoshita back onto the bed, stripping off his own shirt as he leans down to suck a few sharp kisses along his throat, backlit in the warm light of the hotel bathroom. ennoshita’s shirt has too many buttons—he scrambles, halfway concerned iwaizumi might actually try to rip it—before it falls open and the heat of iwaizumi’s broad chest is pressing against his bare skin, the slick of iwaizumi’s lips colliding back against his own.

they make out like high schoolers in an under-surveilled parking lot, afraid to let the momentum drop—ennoshita smooths his hands along those textbook-perfect shoulders and lets his nails drag down iwaizumi’s back, earning himself a quiet groan and a petulant little yank where iwaizumi’s hands are wound into his hair. 

“wow,” ennoshita breathes without thinking, finally getting up nerve to feel for his ass, and then blushes profoundly when iwaizumi laughs in his face. 

he gets even more flustered at the sound he makes when iwaizumi shoves a hand down his pants—feels how embarrassingly hard he is, just from a little kissing—but for whatever reason, iwaizumi must not find that one as funny. 

actually, judging by the hard, hot pressure against his hipbone and the syrupy-sweet  _ “mm”  _ iwaizumi pours into his mouth as he wraps a big hand around him, if he had to guess, he’d say iwaizumi was taking the whole situation pretty seriously.

ennoshita’s got his eyes squeezed closed, hips shamelessly chasing after that rough grip every time it starts to recede, and he sees this split-screen of how he thought tonight was gonna go—with his reasonable bedtime and his straight vanilla bing results—juxtaposed with the beautiful surreality of his first (but holy shit, hopefully not last) gay hand job, enthusiastically administered by a former high school volleyball rival who couldn’t remember his name.

“i’m,” he pants suddenly, arching up against iwaizumi in a fresh kind of desperation, “—g-gonna—” but the rest is swallowed up in a bruising kiss as he gets there and shudders all the way through it. iwaizumi’s hand lingers for a while in the mess in his boxers, teasing him as he descends into the prickling sparks of overstimulation until ennoshita gets mad enough to grab his wrist. 

“fuck off, don’t ruin it.”

iwaizumi grins down at him. “you’re welcome, karasuno.” he carefully draws his hand out, wiping it off across ennoshita’s chest, ignoring the disgusted look on his face. 

ennoshita has almost gotten his respiratory rate back down when he finally cracks under the pressure of the tall, proud tent in iwaizumi’s pants. his gulp is audible, comical, and iwaizumi’s eyebrows creep up his forehead, amused, as ennoshita sounds out the question stuck in his throat. “what should i—i mean, do you want me to…?” 

“pretty sure that’s a more of a question for you, bud. what do  _ you _ want?” iwaizumi reclines a little further away, elbows wide on an overstuffed hotel pillow. 

when ennoshita mumbles, it’s almost too quiet for iwaizumi to catch. “can i watch you jack off?”

“i didn’t quite get that?” 

“i want to watch you do it. instead.” 

iwaizumi’s eyebrows perform another complicated maneuver as he unbuckles his belt with a one-sided smirk. “yeah?” 

ennoshita nods, sitting up for a better angle. it’s an educational experience, in a way. he wouldn’t know what to do, probably. how’s he ever supposed to touch a man like iwaizumi without knowing how he likes to be touched? a better question– _ does  _ he ever want to touch a man like iwaizumi? getting touched is one thing—touching, somehow, feels like something else entirely. 

it’s hard to know where to look, he realizes, taking in the broad, tanned body stretched out before him. eye contact gives him heart palpitations—iwaizumi’s staring straight at him, jaw set, mouth hanging slightly open in a way that impossibly manages to make him even hotter. ennoshita’s eyes follow the shadow of his late-night stubble down his throat, to the anatomy lesson of his torso; he traces the angles of his pectorals, the cut of his obliques, back to where the sides of his hips disappear into his slacks, lewdly unbuttoned and unzipped. from there he gets lost in iwaizumi’s strong forearms before he finally lets his attention wander to the casual, effortless motion of his grip as he nonchalantly jerks himself off. just like ennoshita asked him to.

“like what you’re seeing?” 

“as it turns out,” ennoshita admits, moving closer, “i guess i do.” 

iwaizumi hums with pleasure at the confession and slows his hand as ennoshita presses close against his side, fingers marking out the delineations of his perfect abs on their way south. “can i?”

“yeah, shit—yes,” iwaizumi murmurs as ennoshita replaces his grip with his own and takes over for him. 

it’s not as nerve-wracking as he thought it might be. in fact, it feels pretty damn familiar, really, in a number of important ways. there’s no orchestral swell or anything. just the heat of another guy’s hardness in the palm of his hand, the smell of his bar-breath, sweat and dude-scented deodorant making him hot and kind of dizzy. 

he must be capable enough, though–sure hands are a part of his job, after all, among other reasons—and soon iwaizumi turns his head to crush their lips together again, kissing ennoshita hard before groaning into his mouth as he comes.

iwaizumi’s grin is toothy and a little blissed when he pulls away. “not bad, for a first timer.”

ennoshita gives him an eye roll as he reaches for the tissues on the night stand. then he catches a glimpse of the clock and swears. “hope you weren’t too excited for that first session tomorrow.”

“nah,” iwaizumi yawns, feeling for his shirt and putting it on. “i’ve always heard that doctor’s a shitty presenter, anyway.” 

“fair enough.” ennoshita catches the yawn and passes it back. “hey… you know you can, y’know, stay. if you want.”

iwaizumi’s already heading toward the door. “that’s cute. but i think you’ve probably had enough fun for one night. plus,” he adds seriously, “my room’s right down the fucking hall.”

ennoshita watches him bend over to get his shoes and feels his face go warm. “right.” 

“tomorrow, though...” iwaizumi lingers in the doorway like he can’t quite bring himself to leave. “if you’re not doing anything, maybe let’s do dinner or something.”

“yeah, alright,” ennoshita answers too quickly. “maybe i can buy  _ you _ a drink next time.”

“i’d like that,” iwaizumi says with a wink. “sweet dreams, karasuno.” 

he shuts the door. something in ennoshita squirms with anticipation. cue the orchestra.


End file.
